There were many terrifying outcomes Atticus had imagined on his wild ride to the slums. Daphne, with her body beaten black and blue. Daphne on the floor, her neck lying at an unnatural angle. Daphne, with her clothes torn off her, ravaged into pieces.
None of them could have compared to what actually greeted his eyes. Daphne was alive, but she wasn't well at all. She was huddled on the floor, her legs curled up to her chest. Her arms were wrapped around her thighs and she was rocking minutely, as if she was a child trying to entertain herself.
But what scared Atticus the most was the empty look in her eyes as she stared unblinkingly at her feet.
Daphne always had expressive eyes, even if they were spent glaring at him in judgmental silence most of the time. Her eyes sparkled when she was happy, and shone when she was pleased. They widened when he surprised her and squinted when she was confused.
